Renegade
by paperstorm
Summary: Sam makes Dean happier than anything, and he had to go and stick a knife through the heart of the best thing that's ever happened to him. A tag for Route 666, 1x13. Part of my Deleted Scenes series.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Route 666', it belongs to Eric Kripke and Eugenie Ross-Leming.  
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**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

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><p>"So," Sam starts, grinning a little but not saying anything else.<p>

"So … ?"

"By 'old friend', you mean …" Sam asks coyly.

"A friend that's not new," Dean answers flatly.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam snorts. "So her name's Cassie, huh? You never mentioned her."

"Didn't I?"

"No."

"Yeah, we went out," Dean says dismissively. It's a pipe-dream to think that Sam will let this go; Dean knows his brother well enough to know that. But he can always hope.

"You mean you dated somebody. For more than one night."

Dean glares. "Am I speaking a language here you're not gettin', here?"

Sam laughs and shakes his head.

"Dad and I were working a job in Athens, Ohio, she was finishing up college, and we went out for a few weeks," Dean continues, shrugging it off like it's nothing and praying Sam will buy it.

"And?"

Dean doesn't answer. He's not gonna tell Sam the _and_. It's not like they've never been with other people before, hell, Sam was in an actual serious, long-term, monogamous relationship with Jessica for longer than Dean cares to think about, but even still he doesn't think Sam would really be too interested in hearing all the gory details of his brief and completely disastrous relationship with a girl he hasn't thought about in years.

"Look, it's terrible about her dad, but it kinda sounds like a standard car accident," Sam comments, changing the subject just slightly and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. "I'm not seeing how it fits with what we do. Which, by the way, how does she know what we do?"

Again, Dean doesn't say anything, but evidently Sam doesn't need him to. Sometimes Dean thinks Sam's too smart for his own good. Sometimes he thinks Sam's too smart for _their _own good.

"You told her. You told her?" Sam cries. "The secret? Our big family rule number one, we do what we do and we shut up about it! For a year and a half I do nothing but lie to Jessica, and you go out with this chick in Ohio a couple of times and you tell her everything? Dean!"

"Yeah, looks like," Dean grinds out, turning up the radio and flooring the accelerator to let Sam know the conversation is over.

Kissing Cassie goodbye is quite possibly the stupidest thing Dean's ever done. He knows Sam's watching and he knows Sam's going to have something to say about it, and whatever it is there's no way it'll be good. As far as he knows, Sam hasn't figured out the huge, gigantic, enormous mistake Dean made when he slept with Cassie again, but Sam's smart. He'll work it out sooner or later and Dean's going to be in a world of trouble when he does. Dean feels horrible about it, so horrible that it makes him sick to his stomach so he slips his sunglasses onto his face, slumps down the Impala's bench seat and pretends to be asleep. Sam's probably not convinced, but he doesn't say anything so Dean lies there for hours with his eyes closed. Mostly, he's worried anything he says right now will end up being the wrong thing and tip Sam off to what he did.

By the time they finally stop again, Dean has no idea where but they're definitely not in Missouri anymore, he thinks maybe he actually did sleep for a while near the end. Sam pulls the car into the parking lot of some halfway decent road-side motel, smiling at Dean as he sits up groggily and stretches. He pats Dean's thigh and then he goes to check them in. Dean watches him through the clear glass windows of the motel lobby, Sam's all dimpled smiles and easy charm with the thirty-something woman at the front desk; he definitely hasn't figured anything out. Dean can't understand why. He kissed Cassie two times in front of Sam in the last couple days, and Sam knows Dean spent a whole night at her house. Sam's not stupid, he must know _something_ happened, even if he's hazy on the details.

Dean wonders if maybe Sam's waiting for the right moment to drop the bomb. Maybe Sam's waiting for Dean to bring it up, to admit to it before Sam has to accuse him of it. Or worse, maybe Sam _has_ figured it out but he just doesn't care. Dean thought they were going to be together for real again, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe all along Sam expected their relationship to be causal; maybe Sam's planning on sleeping with other people too. The very thought makes Dean nauseous again. And then it just reiterates and harshly underlines how horribly he fucked up. If he feels this bad at just the _thought_ of Sam being with someone else, he can't even imagine how Sam's going to feel when he finds out Dean actually _was_ with someone else.

The evening goes on, though, and Sam still doesn't mention it. They order takeout from some Chinese place a few blocks away, they eat it while half-watching a football game and chatting intermittently through it. Dean's starting to think Sam really has no idea anything happened between him and Cassie, and he's hosting a debate in his head as to whether he should fess up or not. On one hand, Dean feels so horrible about it that he's definitely never going to do it again, so what Sam doesn't know won't hurt him. But on the other hand, Sam deserves the truth, even if it ends up in Dean getting his ass booted to the curb. He's made up his mind and he's just about to bring it up – his heart thumping wildly in his chest and climbing painfully into his throat – when the decision is taken out of his hands.

Sam's rummaging through his duffle bag when he wrinkles up his nose. "Dude, gross, your freakin' dirty underwear ended up in my bag again," he says, holding up a pair of white, cotton boxer-briefs that Dean instantly recognizes as his own.

He reaches his hand out to take them from his brother, when Sam's eyes notice something on them and he pulls his arm back in to take a closer look. Dean's not sure at first what Sam's seeing, but his face morphs fluidly from intrigued to confused to understanding to crestfallen.

"You … there's lipstick on the waistband …" he says softly, and shit, Dean is _so_ screwed.

"I … it's … that isn't …" He stumbles over his words, coming up with absolutely nothing useful.

"You … did …" Sam looks up, his forehead twisted into an unbearably sad little frown, his eyes wide and glassy. "Did you sleep with her?"

Dean wants to say no, every instinct he has is screaming _deny deny deny!_, but deep down he knows it would be pointless. There's absolutely no other explanation for how lipstick could've gotten on his boxers, he knows that. Any lie he could spin right now would just add insult to injury, and he's already hurt Sam enough. More than enough.

"Yes," he mumbles, dropping his gaze as his face heats up in shame.

For a really long time, Sam doesn't say anything. He drops the offending garment back down on top of his bag and just stares at it blankly for what has to be at least ten minutes. Every second ticks by like sticky molasses in a snowstorm and Dean swallows thickly over the quickly forming lump in his throat. In addition to feeling lower than dirt about what he did, he's now also starting to worry about what'll happen to them if Sam can't forgive him. And then there's a newly refreshed sense of self-loathing piled of top of his usual quota; everything added together, Dean's surprised he's still managing to stay upright.

"I … god," Sam breathes, blinking a few times in rapid succession and shaking his head, more to himself than to Dean. "I didn't think you'd actually done it. I mean, you went over there, and it's not like the thought never occurred to me, but I was sure you wouldn't … you said you were just going to check on her. I thought you were being _nice_. And then I thought you were just kissing her as a goodbye, I …"

He trails off again and they fall back into jarringly tight silence. Dean feels like he's floating, like he's not really present in his own body and is watching all this happen from miles away, like a scene in a movie. It's like watching the world's most horrific car accident in high definition and super-slow-motion, so he can see every panel crumble and every window smash and every drop of blood spill and every bone break. It's completely heartbreaking, watching Sam mouth silent words and stare with an unseeing gaze down at the evidence of what Dean did. It's like he's hoping beyond hope that any second he'll close and open his eyes and this will all turn out to be a nightmare.

Dean has no idea what he could possibly say or do to make this right. He's really done it this time, that much is painfully obvious. He's done some pretty bone-headed things in his life, but this one has to take the cake. Just when he'd finally gotten Sam back the way he's always wanted him, too. Even just these last few weeks with Sam has made Dean happier than he's been in a really long time. And he had to go and ruin it; to stick a knife through the heart of the best thing that's ever happened to him. That's self-destruction on a whole new level, even for him.

"Are you gonna leave?" he asks, finally breaking the silence. He couldn't help it – the tension was stealing all the oxygen from the room – but the second the words pass over his lips he knows it was the wrong thing to say.

Sam turns to him slowly, a look of disbelief crossing over his face briefly before it's replaced by powerful fury, and Dean's actually a little freaked out. Sam's never looked at him like that before. Dean's seen him look at Dad like that a million times, but Sam's never sent that look in Dean's direction. Sam's actually quite scary when he's mad. Normally he's so shy and sweet and sensitive it's easy to forget how formidable he can be – but he's got an explosive temper and he's quite a bit bigger than Dean, both in height and in muscle-mass, and Dean's heart quickens even further.

"Am I going to _leave_?" he repeats, quiet and intense, like he's not entirely sure he heard right. "So wait, this was some kind of test?"

"What?" Dean asks, totally confused.

"You slept with her to see if I'd leave? Do you really have that little faith in me? You're expecting me to take off at the first sign of trouble, so you, what, you thought you'd just cut to the chase?"

"No, that's not … no." Dean shakes his head, but in all honesty he's not positive that Sam's wrong. He doesn't _think_ that's why he did it, at least not consciously anyway, but he isn't sure anymore. The expression on Sam's face is completely unreadable; Dean can't tell if he's mad, or hurt, or what, and that really worries him. He's always been able to read Sam like a book.

"You're unbelievable," Sam mutters. "I'm such an idiot, I can't believe I actually thought this was _real_ to you like it is to me. But it's not, is it? This is all just some game to you."

"It is real," Dean protests weakly, but Sam just scoffs.

"Clearly. That's why you fucked around with someone else the first chance you got, right?" He laughs humorlessly and turns away. "Fuck. I've never been so … y'know what, you're right. I am leaving." Grabbing his jacket, Sam storms toward the door without so much as a glance in Dean's direction.

"Sam – "

"No!" Sam snaps. "God, I can't even look at you right now! How the hell could you do this? No, don't answer that, I don't care. I don't give a fuck why you did it, I just wanna be as far away from you as I can."

He's most of the way out the door when Dean's overwhelming sadness and guilt and fear takes over and manifests into intense anger, and he yells after Sam, "Yeah, that's great! Just run away, like you always fuckin' do!"

The door slams behind Sam so forcefully the whole room shakes, and for a moment Dean isn't sure Sam heard him. But then after a few seconds he bursts back into the room, looking even more furious than he did when he left.

"Seriously?" he chews out. "You're _seriously_ gonna throw that in my face right now? You _cheated_ on me, do you get that? I trusted you, I thought you cared about me!"

"I do!" Dean protests.

"I mean, Jesus, Dean! You never even _told_ me about her!" Sam shouts. "And then while we're _supposed_ to be saving her ass you somehow find the time to screw her behind my back? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Maybe I was trying to hurt you! You ever think of that?"

Sam falters. "What? Why?"

"Maybe I wanted you to know how it feels!" Dean's being irrational and stupid and immature and a bunch of other things but he doesn't care. He's pissed off, damn it, and can't keep it inside anymore.

"How _what _feels?" Sam repeats icily.

"How it feels to think you know someone, to have a brother who also used to be your best friend and your _lover_ and you've been with him for practically every important moment in his life and you _think_ you know everything about him, and then you walk into a room one day and find out he's in a serious fucking relationship with a woman who's name you've never even heard!" Dean's actually spitting in anger now and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing. "So there you go! You never told me about Jess, I never told you about Cassie! I guess now we're even!"

Sam's face falls, his mouth rounding into a perfectly surprised 'o', and then he bristles. "Even? You think we're even now? You dated Cassie for, what, like three weeks? And then a few years later you get a booty-call out of her and you think that makes us _even_? I was with Jessica for over a year, and she's _dead_, you jerk!"

"Yeah, I know that, I was there when she died! If I hadn't been you'd probably be dead right now too!" Dean snaps. "And that's why I never said anything till now, cause you were hurting and I didn't wanna be the selfish asshole who made it all about me! But guess what, Sam, that doesn't change the fact that you were with her for all that time and you never told me! Shit, you were _living_ with her for god's sake! We used to tell each other _everything_! And you're off planning a fucking future with some chick and it never occurred to you to pick up a god-damn phone?"

"Oh, and how exactly would that conversation have gone?" Sam yells, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Hi Dean, it's the little brother you used to fuck but haven't spoken to in years because you resented me wanting a normal life, just wanted to let you know I'm in love with someone else now! Would you actually have wanted to hear that? Or is this just that stupid thing where you keep secrets from me all the freakin' time but go psycho when you find out I'm keeping one from you?"

"Fuck you, that's not what this is about," Dean snarls.

"Like hell it isn't!" Sam returns angrily. "This is about what it's _always_ been about with us – you trying to control me and throwing a fit when you realize you can't! I show even the slightest bit of interest in something that doesn't revolve completely around hunting, and you act like I'm telling you I never wanna see you again or something!"

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes. He doesn't even have an answer for that because – really? Sam's making this about hunting again? They've had this argument so many times Dean doesn't want anything to do with it anymore. And then, of course, there's the glaring fact that Sam's _right_, and that just pisses Dean off even more.

"And y'know what? None of this even matters right now because the _point_ is that you said you wanted us to be together again and then you slept with someone else!" Sam shakes his head fervently, eyes bright and intense. "So screw you, Dean, I am _not_ gonna be another one of your joy-rides!"

"I'm sorry!" Dean explodes, the words tearing out of him like something with claws and then echoing harshly around the thick silence. "I didn't even enjoy it, okay? It was awkward and I knew the second it was over that it was a mistake, and I feel terrible about it and I wish I could take it back but I _can't_!"

"You – " Sam stares, dumfounded. "_What_?"

"You're right, I shouldn't have done that, I … fuck, I don't know why I did that!" Dean digs his fingertips into his throbbing temples. "I just – I freaked out. I'm sorry." He turns away from Sam, unable to look into those soulful hazel depths that always see right to his core. It's too much, sometimes, knowing that Sam just _knows_ all the things inside Dean that he's never had the courage or the inclination to say out loud.

"No way, don't even think about closing up on me now," Sam says, quietly but firmly with an edge to his voice like a warning. "That is not how this works, you don't get to say shit like that and then just walk away."

_God_, Dean really should've seen that coming. The kid always did like to talk everything to death. He should know better by now than to set himself up like this. "Sammy," he starts reluctantly, but Sam cuts him off.

"No! We agreed to give this thing between us another shot and then you spent the night with someone else! You _owe_ me an explanation, a _real_ one."

"I just – fuck, I got scared, okay?" Dean cries, throwing his arms out in frustration.

Sam narrows his eyes. "Scared," he repeats slowly, chewing the word a little on the way out. "Scared of what?"

"Of _this_, of – it just – it started to feel like it did before!" Dean forces out. "Like before you left, when I was so fucking head over heels for you I didn't even know how to handle it sometimes! And it was _good_, exactly like back then, and then I started thinking about you leaving and how much it hurt and that I couldn't deal with that again!"

It's probably the most honest he's been with Sam in months, years even, and now that he's started he can't stop.

"You have no idea what it did to me when you left, do you? It destroyed me. Completely. For _weeks_ I didn't sleep, I didn't eat, Sam it got to the point where Dad wouldn't let me come along on hunts anymore, because he was worried I was gonna get myself hurt on purpose. And y'know what, he was probably right."

"Dean …"

"But then you were back, and we were together and I got all _happy_ like I was before and I started thinking, what happens if you run away again? What if you run farther this time? I can't go through that again, Sam. I won't. And then Cassie was there, and I … she was familiar and she was _safe_, and it just happened. I wish it hadn't, but it did and I _know_ that's not an excuse, I know it, and I'm sorry, I'm just … sorry," Dean says again. He sighs heavily – he _hates_ this. Hates that he did this to Sam, to _them_. He really meant it when he said he wishes he could take it back. At this point, he'd give anything to turn the clock back a few days and never have gone to Missouri in the first place.

Sam huffs and shakes his head exasperatedly; eyes softening and going liquid shiny. "So you thought instead of _talking_ to me about this, you'd just hop into bed with the first person who'd have you? How exactly was that supposed to fix things? God, didn't you realize what this would do to me? How could you be so thoughtless?"

"I – I don't know." Dean closes his eyes against a wave of misery that sweeps over him. He's such an idiot. He probably just single-handedly shattered any hope they have of making things between them work this time, and he doesn't even know _why_ he did it. "I don't know what I was thinking. I _wasn't_ thinking. That's … that's the truth. I don't know what else to say."

For a long time, Sam just considers him. Dean can't really read the expression on his face – doubt, sadness, anger maybe – but he just _looks_, like if he stares long enough he'll find answers written on Dean's skin. When he speaks again, his voice is softer and kinder; almost _understanding_ and that somehow just makes everything worse.

"Okay. I … I left, back then, and I made you feel like you were what I was running away from, and that hurt you. And for that I'm sorry."

Definitely worse. Yelling, Dean can handle. But when Sam gets all sweet and sympathetic and accepting of Dean's flaws, that's what breaks Dean down. He feels like he just got emotionally sucker punched and he blinks furiously to keep the tears that sting his eyes from falling.

"It's not your fault," Dean answers quietly. "It's me. I'm … I don't know. Fucked up, I guess."

"I'm not saying it's my fault," Sam answers, still gentle but more matter-of-factly. "I'm saying I get it. But it can't happen again. Ever."

"I know. It won't, I swear." Dean isn't sure exactly why he's being forgiven – he doesn't _deserve_ to be forgiven – but for whatever reason, he's being given a second chance and hell if he's gonna argue.

"If we're gonna do this? We gotta do it right this time, man," Sam continues. "And that means if you're pissed at me, or you're wigging out about something, the way to handle it isn't sleeping with somebody else. I meant what I said before, I wanna be with you but I am _not _going to be the person you screw around with until someone better comes along. If you want me, it's gotta be only me."

"That's the way I want it too, I don't wanna share you. I just … messed up. And there's no one better, it's you, it's always been you. I'm so sorry, Sammy."

It takes Dean a few seconds to notice that he's actually crying now; it doesn't even really register to him until Sam's face falls, and he moves swiftly towards Dean and wraps him up, shushing him and cradling him in his big arms. Dean presses his face into Sam's shoulder and only then does he realize hot tears of shame and regret and utter misery are spilling over the rims of his eyes and down his cheeks, soaking through the material of Sam's shirt. He doesn't have room in his head or in his heart to be embarrassed about it – there's too many other things going on in there. Too much sadness and too much fear that he really has ruined them forever. That Sam will never truly forgive him for this, regardless of what he said before. But he clings to Sam anyway, he can't _not_, sliding his arms around the middle of Sam's back and gripping handfuls of his shirt and holding on for dear life because he's terrified to let go.

"I'm sorry, shit, I'm so god damn sorry," he mumbles again, and again, over and over until Sam stops him.

"I know," Sam soothes, cupping the back of Dean's head in his wide palm and rubbing up and down his back. "It's – "

"No, don't tell me it's okay," Dean interrupts, shaking his head so his forehead rubs against Sam's collarbone. "It isn't. I hurt you, I don't _ever_ wanna hurt you but I did."

"You're allowed to make a mistake, Dean," Sam says softly. "You're human, you don't have to be perfect. I'm not saying I'm happy about this, 'cause I'm not. And you're right, it does hurt, it hurts a lot but … I know you, I wasn't ever expecting you to change. I wouldn't want you to, not really."

Dean stifles a sob and pulls back just enough to see Sam's eyes. He can't explain exactly how, but Sam's words, while they were probably meant to be comforting, just end up slicing Dean up inside. He knows he's a screw-up, but he's always tried so hard to be _better_ for Sam, and it hurts that Sam knows he's a screw-up too. "You – does that mean you were expecting something like this to happen? You were waiting for me to fuck up?"

"What? No, god, of course not," Sam says quickly, taking Dean's face in his hands and kissing him gently. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out like I meant it."

"How did you mean it?" Dean asks. He sounds like a petulant child but he can't help it, even though he doesn't really have the right to be mad at Sam right now, if anything he should be the one on his knees begging for absolution.

Sam chews on his bottom lip for a minute before he answers, like he's choosing his words very carefully. "What I meant is that things are different now and it's gonna take some time to figure it all out. We were apart for a long time, and I was with Jess so I'm used to being in a relationship, but you were … well. You got used to living without any restraints."

Dean snorts wetly, laughing in spite of himself through his tears. "Is that the nice way of calling me a slut?"

Sam chuckles back. "No. I just mean you're new to this whole only being with one person thing. So I get that it's not just going to come naturally, you know?"

"We were together when we were kids and I wasn't with anyone else," Dean points out. He _knows_ Sam's just trying to make him feel better, he's trying to give him an out, but Dean can't help feeling a little put out by the fact that Sam's expecting him to make mistakes like this. He _did_ mess up, so he doesn't have much room to protest, but even still. He wants to be so much more for Sam, he wants so badly to be everything Sam deserves. Mostly, Dean doesn't feel like he deserves the excuses Sam's giving him. In a sad, self-deprecating way, Dean just wants Sam to be mad at him so he can keep feeling like shit about what he did.

"We were – handjobs in the Impala before school and the occasional weekend in bed together when Dad left us on our own," Sam replies softly, sliding his arms down to the small of Dean's back and hooking his fingers together so he can keep Dean slotted against his chest. "I mean don't get me wrong, it was great. But it wasn't a relationship, not a real one anyway."

"And this is?" Dean knows the answer to that question, honestly it's probably the main reason he got scared and turned to someone else, even if he can't admit it.

Sam shrugs. "Yeah, kinda. Does that freak you out?"

"No, it … yes," Dean admits in a small voice.

"Me too," Sam whispers, leaning in slightly and brushing his lips over Dean's temple. "It's like, before we had an excuse to not let this get too real. We could hide behind the fact that we had to keep it from Dad, and now we don't."

Dean nods. Sam's clearly given this more thought than he has – Dean just knows he freaked out but he doesn't know exactly why – but that's nothing new. Sam's brain goes a million miles a minute most days; Dean, on the other hand, has feelings that overwhelm him to the point of doing something stupid, like he did with Cassie, but he usually doesn't understand what's going on in his own head.

"I was such a jerk. I'm really, really sorry," he mumbles, resting his forehead against Sam's shoulder again and trying to ignore the fact that in addition to making such a huge mistake, he's also being a giant wuss about it right now. But he feels horrible for what he did to Sam, worse than horrible.

"I forgive you," Sam says quietly, "long as it doesn't happen again."

"Never," Dean promises. "Never ever. Just you and me, okay?"

"Good. C'mere," Sam murmurs, leading Dean to the bed. He lays down and pulls Dean with him – Dean lands half sprawled over Sam's chest, and he shifts to tuck his body into Sam's side. He rests his head back on Sam's shoulder, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in the clean, fresh scent, and Sam wraps his arms around Dean and holds him tight. Again, Dean has the acute feeling that he doesn't at all deserve Sam's forgiveness – really, what he deserves if for Sam to run as far away from Dean as he can and never speak to him again for the rest of both their lives – but whatever the reason, Sam _is_ forgiving him so Dean isn't going to question it.

"Does, um …" Sam fidgets a little like he's nervous. "Does this have anything to do with what I said in Nebraska?"

Dean frowns. "What did you say?"

"When I … I said that I … loved you. I mean, I know I didn't _really_ say it, but I sort of did."

"Oh." Dean sighs. He was really hoping they wouldn't have to make a big deal out of that. "No. I mean … maybe, a little. Look, the reasons aren't important, okay? I was just stupid, Sam. I'm just a screw-up, that's all. You were right, to be expecting me to do something like this."

"You're not a screw-up. Please tell me?" Sam asks quietly, and damn it, Dean can't refuse him when he sounds like that.

"I just … all that stuff you said, about how you thought we'd never be together again and then we were and you fell for me again so fast, I … I felt all that too," Dean admits, trying his best not to squirm. Talking about this kind of thing still makes him uncomfortable, even with Sam. Maybe _especially _with Sam. "It wasn't until after you left that I realized how addicted I was to you. You're the only one who's ever … well. Anyway, I guess … maybe it did scare me a little once we got back together, remembering how much I need you."

Sam nods, his cheek rubbing against Dean's forehead, and trails his fingers lightly up and down Dean's arm. "I need you too, you know."

"I know," Dean replies, because he doesn't have the energy to argue anymore even though he knows Sam's wrong on that one. He may need Dean a little, but he doesn't need Dean like Dean needs him.

Dean's more than addicted, he's a full-fledged junkie. Sam's been everything to him, everything, since the day he was born. The day Mom put the tiny, squirmy, wrinkly little bundle into Dean's arms and said 'this is your baby brother'. She said _yours_, and a four-year-old Dean took it literally. Sammy was _his_. Sam has belonged to him since the very beginning. So yeah, maybe Sam needs him around, needs him on hunts, needs him for company and to have his back and to provide the sense that he belongs somewhere, but he doesn't need Dean like Dean needs him. He doesn't live and breathe to make Dean smile, he doesn't define his entire existence by his ability to keep Dean safe, he wouldn't saw off his own right arm to stop something from harming a single hair on Dean's head. But Dean would do all those things for Sam in a heartbeat, he wouldn't even think about it.

"She was the first person I was with after you left," Dean says, breaking the silence because thoughts of how much his world revolves around Sam and how smashed up he'll be inside when Sam inevitably leaves him again are making tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.

"Hm?"

"Yeah. It was about two months after you took off. I'd finally started to get my head back on straight, and then I met her, and I thought what the hell, why not give the whole relationship thing a try. It was so good with you, I thought maybe it'd be just as good with someone else. Obviously, it was a complete disaster." Dean sighs again and Sam hugs him a little tighter. "I was still kind of a mess. I let my guard down. I told her there was this guy I'd been seeing for a long time but I wasn't anymore because my job took me away from him, and she asked what I did, and I told her. She freaked, told me I was crazy, told me I was _lying_, and then she kicked me out and I hadn't seen or heard from her since. Everyone else I was with after her, they were all just randoms. I don't even remember most of their names."

"Why are you telling me this?" Sam asks slowly.

"I'm not sure." He really isn't. Dean's talked more about himself in the last hour than he has in years. But now that he's opened the flood gates, he's having trouble closing them again. "Because part of the reason this happened was that when I saw her, all these feelings came back and I didn't know how to handle it. But I didn't love her, alright? I never did, I want you to know that. I tried to replace you with her, but all that did was make me realize nothing could replace you."

"I guess I can understand that. If I could see Jess again … well. I _did_ love her, so. But nothing could replace you either."

Dean nods and relaxes a little more into Sam's solid chest. Usually he's not one for cuddling unless it's post-sex, but right now he's just grateful that's all Sam's making him do. He'd get down on his knees and grovel if that's what Sam wanted. And really, it isn't so bad. Sam's warm and he smells good, like soap and deodorant, and his arms around Dean and his palm rubbing between Dean's shoulder blades is more comforting than words could ever be. Dean's always been a physical being; he always finds touches more reassuring than words.

"Still mad at me?" Dean murmurs, nosing underneath Sam's smooth jaw.

"No," Sam answers softly. He shifts so he can roll over onto his side and rest his forehead against Dean's. "We … think maybe we still gotta learn how to trust each other again. S'not gonna happen overnight, y'know?"

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Guess what I did isn't exactly helping the process along."

Sam laughs quietly. "Not really. But like I said, it's okay to make a mistake. I'm sure it's not the last time either of us will mess up. This … what we have, it's not exactly a normal relationship, you know? The normal rules don't really apply to us. It's gonna take some time to figure this all out, there's no playbook for what we're doin' here."

"Yeah," Dean says again. He can tell Sam wants to keep talking, and Dean still feels bad enough about everything that he's sort of inclined to let him, but he also knows his brother well enough to know that Sam will talk about this until he's blue in the face if no one stops him, and Dean thinks maybe what they both need more right now is a little comfort. He leans in and kisses Sam, warm and soft but brief, and then he pulls back and searches Sam's eyes. "This okay?"

"Always okay."

Dean smiles and leans back in, brushing his lips gently and lovingly against Sam's, trying to pour into it as much feeling as he can as a continuation of his already plentiful apologies. Right now, he feels a bit like he could tell Sam he's sorry about ten times a day for the rest of his life and it still wouldn't be enough. Sam moans softly into it, it's so quiet that Dean barely hears it but he can feel it vibrating against his lips. He deepens the kiss, petting along the seam of Sam's lips with his tongue until Sam opens up for him, and then slowly working his tongue into Sam's mouth and tasting every inch of it. He tangles their tongues together, rubbing and creating delicious friction that has his cock steadily filling and thickening in his pants.

_This _is what a kiss is supposed to feel like. Dean can't believe he used to derive any kind of enjoyment from kissing all those faceless girls he was with while Sam was gone; he can't believe he momentarily tricked himself into believing kissing Cassie was good and right and what he wanted. He can't believe he convinced himself that an evening of lackluster pleasure and stale sensation was worth jeopardizing everything he has with Sam. The only explanation he can really come up with is temporary insanity, because a kiss with Sam is so many worlds away from a kiss with anyone else that Dean doesn't know what he could have been thinking. Sam's lips are warm and sweet on his tongue, and his body is hard and strong and perfect under Dean's hands, and if he ever had any doubts he's absolutely positive in this moment that _no one_ else compares to Sam. No one ever has and no one ever could.

"Dean," Sam sighs, bringing his hand up to cup Dean's cheek and rubbing his thumb in a slow arc over it. "God. Want you."

"Yeah?" Dean asks, somewhat uncertainly as he dips down to kiss Sam's neck. "You sure?"

"'Course," Sam breathes, trying to roll them over and start controlling the pace, but Dean plants one foot up on the mattress and doesn't let him.

"Good," he says huskily. "Cause I wanna spend the rest of the night showing you exactly how much you mean to me."

He rolls them the other way, Sam ending up on his back and Dean rolling on top of him, propping himself up on his elbows, planted on either side of Sam's head. He spends a minute or two just staring down into Sam's eyes; they're unbelievably beautiful at the worst of times, but they're just indescribable when they're dark and heavy lidded and glazed over like they are right now. Their usual cross between blue and green is tinged more to the green side now; a dark, almost sage in the dim light. And there's nothing but trust and want and maybe even love shining in them right now – that, more than anything else, makes Dean feel like they're going to be okay; that Sam will find a way to forgive him for what he did and they'll be able to move passed it. But that doesn't stop him from wanting to prove to Sam how sorry he is, and that Sam is everything to him.

He dips down and kisses Sam gently, trying to keep it slow and sensual but Sam grips Dean's hips in his big palms and surges up into the kiss, dipping his tongue into Dean's mouth and trying to take over again. Dean lets him drive for another few minutes, because nothing is more tantalizingly arousing than Sam when he's needy and desperate for it like this. But then Dean pulls back, nipping lightly at Sam's bottom lip as he does and licking over the sting. Sam whines a little when Dean moves away, so he smiles and brushes his lips over Sam's once or twice more.

"Dean," Sam whispers, his voice rough and thick. He runs his hands up Dean's back and grips handfuls of his t-shirt, his mouth chasing Dean's as he tries to urge Dean to move faster. Dean rolls his hips slowly down into Sam's, his moan echoed by Sam at the delicious friction on their trapped erections, but then he stops and nuzzles into the soft skin under Sam's ear again, smiling when Sam whimpers a little.

"Dean, c'mon," he mumbles.

"Shh," Dean murmurs right into Sam's ear, drawing the lobe between his lips and sucking on it. "Relax, baby boy. Let me take care of you."

It sends a dirty thrill up his spine – and judging by the wanton moan, Sam's too – to use phrases like that when they're like this. Their whole lives, Dean's always taken care of and protected and looked out for Sam. It's more than instinct – it's carved into his bones. He can't escape it, even if he ever wanted to. He's got Dad's voice and his own voice in his head like a broken record, repeating _Dean, take care of Sammy_ over and over until he's all but deaf to anything else. The shift in meaning is what makes him shiver, though. Taking care of Sammy used to mean cooking him dinner and helping him with his homework and teaching him how to ride a bike and tie his shoes and pop a werewolf right between the eyes with a silver bullet. Now, at least in this moment, it means getting Sam off; kissing him and petting him and worshiping his incredible body until he comes; and even though it's been years since this thing between them was new, it's still dirtybadwrong enough to have heat coiling low in Dean's stomach that's a mixture of want and shame and regret and the overwhelming sense that this is much too right for them _not_ to be together like this.

He kisses Sam again, keeping it unhurried and languid and this time Sam lets him, pushing his hands up underneath Dean's shirt and letting those big, warm palms slide teasingly slow up and down Dean's spine. He rocks his hips up into Dean's when Dean rolls down, not nearly hard enough or fast enough to have either of them flirting with the edge, but just enough pressure that Dean's whole body gets overheated and his head swims. It's a long time, Dean loses track of how much exactly, before he finally has to pull away to gasp for air. He always hates having to do that; he'd happily suffocate if it meant his last few seconds would include Sam's tongue in his mouth, but there's a lot more he wants to do tonight and he needs to get it started if he's going to last through it.

Sam's panting too, sucking in great gulps of air and blinking blearily up at Dean. He's _gorgeous_, his lips swollen and slick, pretty patches of crimson staining his cheeks, his eyes lust-blown, his hair all mussed and sticking out at odd angles. He looks messed up and fucked out already even though they've barely done anything. Dean smiles at him, bumping their noses together and then sliding his lips along Sam's baby-smooth jaw.

"I know what you're doing," Sam says breathlessly, blunt nails digging into Dean's back when Dean hits a sensitive spot.

"What am I doing?" he asks against Sam's neck.

"You're trying to make all this up to me with sex, and look, I mean I'm totally down for it, but it's not necessary. You don't have to repay me like this."

Dean pushes back up onto his forearms, quirking an eyebrow down at Sam. "So … what you're saying is, you _don't_ want me to suck your cock."

Sam groans, eyes rolling back into his head briefly and then he chuckles thickly. "God. No, that's definitely not what I'm saying."

Dean grins, enjoying Sam's slight shudder at the predatory gleam that's probably in Dean's eyes right now. He slithers backwards off the bed, stripping his clothes off hurriedly as Sam does the same. He takes a minute to just look once Sam's naked – all that bare, smooth skin, perfect caramel expanses of it covering the flat planes and enticing bulges of muscle, it makes Dean's mouth water. He doesn't waste any time because the sight of Sam spread out for him like that has Dean so hard he doesn't _have_ time to waste. He crawls back onto the bed, his stomach doing a funny little acrobatic dance when Sam lets his legs fall open further so Dean's got ample room to settle between them. It's another dirty thrill that Sam trusts him so much; Sam's big and strong and could take just about anyone down without even breaking a sweat, but he still surrenders like this to Dean. Trusts Dean to take care of him.

He leans down and licks a smooth stripe up the underside of Sam's cock where it's lying heavy against his abdomen. He lifts it up, curling his fingers around it and stroking gently while he licks at the swollen head. A little pulse of salty pre-come oozes from the slit and Dean laps it up, loving the taste of Sam on his tongue. Then he lets it slide into his mouth and sucks, hard, and Sam loses whatever he was about to say on a broken moan.

If he had the time, Dean would like to do this for hours; bringing Sam a breath away from the edge and then pulling back again and again until Sam finally begged Dean to let him come. But that's clearly not in the cards for either of them tonight, if the way Sam's breath is coming in little hitches already even though Dean's barely even started blowing him. He laves his tongue in a slow drag over the web of veins as he bobs his head, sucking quickly and sloppily, letting little rivulets of his own spit dribble down Sam's shaft and using them to slick the way for his fist, wrapped around the bottom half of Sam that he can't fit into his mouth. Sam's moaning and tossing his head on the pillow after only a few minutes, and Dean's stomach does another hot little flip at the fact that he can get Sam so close this quickly. When Sam's hands find Dean's hair and start trying to tug at the short strands, Dean pulls off with a ragged gasp and wipes his mouth with the back on his hand.

Sam takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, and then he gets a good handle on Dean's biceps and drags him back up the bed to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. Their bare cocks rub together when Dean lowers his body back down onto Sam's, sending fantastic tendrils of pleasure shooting through Dean's synapses. Dean wanted to take this slow, he wanted to spend the whole night teasing Sam and making him come over and over again until they both collapsed onto the bed, too exhausted and sated to even move. But now that he's got Sam writhing under him, all that's flown out the window. He kisses Sam almost roughly and grinds down into him, his leftover saliva and their combined pre-come making their cocks slippery and slide together easily.

"Dean," Sam breathes against Dean's lips, gripping the back of his neck with one hand and squeezing a handful of Dean's ass in the other so he can pull their hips closer together.

"Just like this?" Dean asks, hoping like hell Sam will say yes because he's not sure he's capable at this point of slowing down enough to do anything else.

"Yeah," Sam answers huskily. He hitches his legs up and wraps them around Dean's waist, digging his heels into Dean's lower back and urging Dean to move faster. Dean does, rutting against Sam's hard body until he sees stars.

"So fuckin' hot like this, Sammy," he growls.

"Feels so good, Dean, gonna come," Sam mumbles, and Dean rolls his hips a little quicker.

"Me too, baby." Dean dips down to lick at the beads of sweat gathering in the hollow of Sam's throat, kissing the soft skin and then biting down hard on the meat of Sam's shoulder, and that does it for Sam. He freezes, suspended in that _almost there_ for half a second, and then he twitches and shoots warm and sticky between them. Sam is nothing short of beautiful mid-orgasm, his forehead scrunches up and his eyes go wide and blank and glassy, his mouth slightly open on a silent moan. Dean stares at him, something significant passing between them in their intense shared gaze. He's not sure what it is exactly, but it feels important, and heat bursts at the bottom of his spine as he follows Sam down, every nerve-ending lighting up and his balls tightening and drawing up. He grinds into Sam a few more times and then he comes, painting Sam's stomach with their blended release.

He collapses down onto Sam's chest, burying his face in Sam's neck and breathing ragged, Sam-scented breaths. Sam lifts his arms up and wraps them around Dean's back, and Dean shivers as Sam's fingers trace lightly down his spine. Sam huffs affectionately and rolls them a little so they're lying on their sides, pressed together from chest to ankles. They're sticky and covered in sweat the last thing in the world Dean wants is to move. It's a little girly, sure, but at the moment he's okay with that. He tucks his head under Sam's chin and lets Sam hold him – lets Sam wordlessly reassure him that even though he screwed up royally, he isn't going to lose the only person in the world who's ever truly made him happy.

"M'sorry," he says one more time, for good measure, and because the sleepy haze from a fantastic orgasm that didn't even include any actual sex is reminding him more than ever of why it never worked out with Cassie; why he shouldn't have even tried in the first place. He belongs with Sam.

"I know," Sam murmurs. "This was … a speed-bump. A really shitty one, but still. I think we're gonna be okay."

Dean nods, sliding his arm around Sam's waist and holding on. He's going to do whatever it takes to make sure Sam's prediction comes true.


End file.
